


mashton prompt fics

by softirwin



Series: tumblr prompt fics [4]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softirwin/pseuds/softirwin
Summary: they are mashton fics and they came from prompts
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Ashton Irwin
Series: tumblr prompt fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982899
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. at a bar and slsp comes on

**Author's Note:**

> i really did not realise how many prompt fics i've written in my time i'm not even posting all of them i gave up on a bunch of them sorry britpop au drabbles you are not getting posted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, shit!” Ashton shouts, when he hears the familiar _hey, hey_ starting up over the chattering voices in the bar. Michael drops his head with a groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: at a bar and slsp comes on

“Oh, shit!” Ashton shouts, when he hears the familiar _hey, hey_ starting up over the chattering voices in the bar. Michael drops his head with a groan.

“Fuck’s sake,” he says, loud enough for Ashton to hear. Ashton grins drunkenly, and holds his hand out.

“Dance with me,” he says. Michael shakes his head, but c'mon, it’s their song, they _have_ to dance, Michael’s just a fucking killjoy, so Ashton grabs his hand and tugs anyway. Michael gives easily, making noises of protest but letting himself be dragged to the dancefloor.

Ashton keeps hold of Michael, waving their joined hands above their heads as he screams along to the song tunelessly. Michael’s shaking his head but grinning as Ashton sways back and forth.

“I hate this song,” Michael shouts over the music.

“You’re no fucking fun,” Ashton says, catching Michael’s waist and pulling him closer, pressing him against Ashton. Ashton’s drunk, but he doesn’t miss the way Michael’s breath hitches, the way his fingers squeeze Ashton’s slightly.

“I am fucking fun,” Michael protests, eyes wide and glassy.

“Prove it,” Ashton says, and he’s drunk, but he needs to be for the way Michael’s lips press soft, tentative against his own.


	2. "what made you assume that?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey,” a voice is saying, and Michael lets out a little groan and rolls over as best he can in his bunk (Jesus, these things weren’t made for anyone more than four foot tall, honestly). Someone, presumably the owner of the voice, shakes his arm gently, and Michael makes another noise of general discontent and pulls his arm in. 
> 
> “Mike,” the voice says, and Michael’s now unfortunately awake enough to realise it’s Ashton. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "what made you assume that?"

“Hey,” a voice is saying, and Michael lets out a little groan and rolls over as best he can in his bunk (Jesus, these things weren’t made for anyone more than four foot tall, honestly). Someone, presumably the owner of the voice, shakes his arm gently, and Michael makes another noise of general discontent and pulls his arm in. 

“Mike,” the voice says, and Michael’s now unfortunately awake enough to realise it’s Ashton. 

“What?” he mumbles, keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

“It’s ten o’clock.” Michael waits for the rest of the sentence, but it never comes. 

“So?”

“ _So_ , I assumed you’d want waking up.” 

“What the fuck made you assume that?” Ashton hesitates. 

“It’s morning?” he tries, and Michael groans again, long and loud, and rolls over onto his other side, blinking up at Ashton blearily. 

“I went to bed at five,” he says. “‘S the middle of the night for me.” Ashton sighs, and folds his arms. 

“Michael,” he says reproachfully, like he doesn’t fucking know Michael’s at least three timezones behind wherever they are at any given moment. 

“What,” Michael says, a touch grumpily. “We’re not at soundcheck ‘til three. I can fucking sleep.” Ashton sighs again. 

“We’ve got shit to do,” he says, in that stern, I’m-two-years-older-than-you-but-I’m-going-to-fucking-milk-those-two-years voice that he uses whenever he wants any of them to do anything. 

“Like what?” 

“ _Like,_ write songs,” Ashton says. “Practice. Do some yoga.” 

“You and your fucking yoga,” Michael mutters, and Ashton flips him off. 

“It’s fucking good for you,” he tells Michael primly. “For _you,_ especially.” 

“What d’you mean, _me?_ ” Michael says, a little incensed. 

“It’s calming,” Ashton says. 

“I’m calm,” Michael says. “I’m so calm that I was _asleep_ until you came in.” 

“It improves your flexibility.” Michael scowls. 

“What the fuck do you know about my flexibility?” he says, pointing at Ashton accusingly. Ashton shrugs. 

“You don’t look very flexible,” he says. 

“How can you _look_ flexible?” 

“ _I_ look flexible.” 

“ _You_ look like a dickhead,” Michael says, because it’s been five minutes since he woke up from five hours of sleep, so his brain is still trying to access all aspects of his personality from the age of twelve onwards. Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“Are you going to get up?” he says, and Michael shakes his head. Ashton looks at him for a moment, like he’s weighing up whether or not it’s worth trying to coax Michael out of bed, and then sighs, having clearly recognised that Michael’s not going to give. 

“Fine,” he says, “but when Cal gets pissed at you for still not being able to play the beginning of Lover of Mine you’ll only have yourself to blame.” 

“Fine by me,” Michael says, because he’s been dealing with Calum’s wrath for, like, twenty years, now, and Calum can never stay mad at him for long anyway. Ashton just throws his hands up in the air, exasperated, and makes to walk away, but Michael throws his arm out, blocking Ashton’s path back to the lounge area. 

“Come cuddle,” he says. 

“I have shit to do, Mike,” Ashton says, but Michael can hear the slight waver in his tone. 

“You woke me up,” Michael says. “You can cuddle me back to sleep again.” Ashton hesitates. 

“You can sleep without me cuddling you,” he says.

“Yeah,” Michael says, “but I never sleep as well on my own as I do with you.” Ashton purses his lips, but Michael knows he’s got him. 

“Fine,” Ashton says, like it’s a huge ordeal for him, like Michael should be grateful, when they both know full well Ashton loves cuddling Michael just as much as Michael loves being cuddled by Ashton. Michael grins at him, pulls his arm back into the bunk and makes grabby hands at him, and Ashton rolls his eyes as he clambers into the bunk next to Michael, but he’s grinning. 

“Shove up,” he says, because the bunk was _definitely_ not designed for two six-foot-something blokes, and Michael obeys, shuffling as close to the wall as he can. Ashton slings an arm around Michael’s waist, warm and heavy, and draws Michael close to him. Michael brings a hand up, threading his fingers through the hand Ashton’s got around his waist, and Ashton presses a soft kiss to the nape of Michael’s neck. 

“Sleep,” he says softly. 

“Fucking hell,” Michael mumbles, pressing back against Ashton, wanting to feel every inch of him draped over Michael. “Mixed messages.” Ashton flicks his ear, and Michael whines about it, but then Ashton kisses it, trailing gentle kisses from the tip of Michael’s ear to his shoulder. 

“Love you,” Michael says, stifling a yawn, because fuck, he really is tired, and he really does sleep better with Ashton there. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ashton says, but Michael can hear his smile. 

(Michael falls asleep to the sound of Ashton’s deep, even breaths, and the rhythmic thudding of his heart, beating in time with Michael’s.) 


	3. "it's not funny"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What?” Ashton sounds annoyed when he picks up the phone, and it had taken three missed calls to get him to answer, so he’s probably in the middle of cooking their dinner, but it’s important. An emergency, one might even say. 
> 
> (Michael is definitely ‘one’.) 
> 
> “I need your help.” There’s a pause. 
> 
> “With what?” Ashton sounds suspicious. Which, frankly, is a little offensive, Michael thinks, with a frown. What kind of a boyfriend reacts to ‘I need your help’ with suspicion? Well, actually, pretty much every boyfriend Michael’s ever had, but that’s beside the point, and hardly Michael’s fault. He refuses to be the common denominator here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "it's not funny"

“What?” Ashton sounds annoyed when he picks up the phone, and it had taken three missed calls to get him to answer, so he’s probably in the middle of cooking their dinner, but it’s _important._ An _emergency,_ one might even say. 

(Michael is definitely ‘one’.) 

“I need your help.” There’s a pause. 

“With what?” Ashton sounds suspicious. Which, frankly, is a little offensive, Michael thinks, with a frown. What kind of a boyfriend reacts to ‘I need your help’ with suspicion? Well, actually, pretty much every boyfriend Michael’s ever had, but that’s beside the point, and hardly Michael’s fault. He refuses to be the common denominator here. 

“Can you- can you just come upstairs?” Better to let Ashton see for himself, probably. 

“I’m in the middle of cooking, Mike, what d’you want?” Ashton sounds annoyed now, like Michael’s having him on, which is even _more_ offensive than the original suspicion. Michael would _never_ do that. Well, except that time with the wardrobe, and that time in the forest, and- okay, well, he’s not doing it _this_ time.

“I’ve, uh.” Michael’s not really sure how to phrase this. “I’ve got my toe stuck.” 

“Your toe?” Ashton says. “Where?” Michael closes his eyes, and he takes a deep breath. 

“In the- in the tap thing. On the bath.” 

“The tap?” 

“Yeah.” There’s a long pause. 

“You’ve got your toe stuck in the tap?” Ashton says, and there’s a note of incredulity to his voice. 

“That’s what I just said.” 

“You’re a twenty-five year old man, Mike,” Ashton says, still with that disbelief in his voice. “What the fuck were you doing sticking your toe in the tap?” Michael shrugs, making the water slosh around him. 

“Wanted to see if it would fit.” Ashton’s silent for a moment, and then laughs, long and loud and bright. 

“Well, does it?” he asks, through giggles. Michael pouts. 

“It’s not funny,” he says petulantly. 

“No,” Ashton agrees, “no, you’re right, it’s not funny _at all_ that my _twenty-five-year-old boyfriend_ decided to stick his _toe_ in the _tap_ to see if it would _fit.”_

“You’re such a dick,” Michael grumbles. “Come and get it out.” Ashton laughs again. 

“No,” he says. “I’m cooking.” Michael blinks at his foot. 

“What d’you mean, no?” he demands. “Come here and pull my fucking toe out of the tap.” 

“I’m not touching your feet,” Ashton says, sounding far too delighted for someone whose boyfriend is now at risk of dying a painful and embarrassing death, thanks to him. 

“They’re _clean,”_ Michael says. “I’m in the _bath.”_

“I don’t care if they’re clean, I’m not putting my hands anywhere near them,” Ashton says. 

“So you want me to die?” Ashton snorts, amused. 

“You’re not going to die.” 

“Well, I can’t get my toe out of the tap, and you’re refusing to get it out, so I’m going to be stuck in this bath until I get dehydrated and die,” Michael says sulkily. 

“You’re in a bath,” Ashton points out. “You’ve got a tap right there. You’re not going to get dehydrated.” 

“Well, until I starve to death, then.” 

“I’ll bring you food.” Michael makes a noise of outrage. 

“You’ll prolong my suffering?”

“So you _want_ to die?” 

“I want you to pull my fucking _toe_ out of the tap, but if you won’t do that, then I at least want to die a quick and dignified death,” Michael says stroppily. 

“Dignified?” Ashton echoes, and Michael can hear him grinning. “You’re dying with your toe stuck in a tap.” 

“That can be dignified.” 

“Not if it’s you.” Michael hates him. 

“I hate you,” he informs Ashton. 

“I can live with that,” Ashton says cheerily. 

“I’m going to call Calum,” Michael says. “He’ll pull my toe out.” 

“Aren’t you naked?” Michael looks down at himself. Yeah, he’d forgotten about that. Oh, well, it’s not like Calum’s never seen it before, is it? 

“Well, getting to see my dick will be his payment.” 

“There can’t be much to see. Water must be getting cold, now.” Michael scowls. 

“I hate you, d’you know that?” 

“You might have mentioned,” Ashton says nonchalantly, amusement still clear in his voice. “Let me finish the sauce, and then I’ll come up.”

“What d’you mean, ‘let me finish the sauce’?” Michael demands. “Come up _now.”_ Ashton sighs, long and exasperated, like not being a twat for one minute is a massive ordeal. 

“Alright, fine,” he says. “Let me just get Luke on FaceTime and I’ll be right up.” 

“Don’t you fucking _d_ -” Michael yelps, but it’s too late; Ashton’s hung up. 

Fuck. 

Michael places his phone on the side of the bath and then brings his hands down to cover his dick, arranging them carefully so his balls are covered too. Just in time, actually, because he can hear Ashton’s footsteps on the stairs, and then coming closer down the corridor outside, and then the door’s opening, and-

Ashton walks in, no phone in his hand. 

“You dickhead,” Michael says, and brings his hands out of the water again, flicking all the wetness he can in Ashton’s direction. Ashton barely even flinches, just laughs, and kneels down next to Michael’s head. 

“I should’ve called him,” he says, and Michael rolls his head to the right to look at Ashton. 

“You should pull my fucking toe out of the tap,” he says, and Ashton grins. 

“If you ask nicely,” he says. Michael lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“I did,” he says. “On the phone, five minutes ago. And you told me you’d happily watch me die a slow, painful death.” Ashton snorts.

“I’m not sure that’s exactly what I said,” he says. Michael waves a hand dismissively. 

“Well, I’m paraphrasing,” he says. “Get my toe out of the tap.” Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“Do I at least get a kiss for my efforts?” Michael blinks at him. 

“You haven’t done anything yet,” he says. 

“Call it a deposit.” Michael’s eyes narrow. 

“So I’ll get it back? Ashton’s grin widens, and the glitter in his eyes turns a little wicked. 

“And then some,” he promises. Michael’s eyes stay narrowed for a moment, but he’s not convincing himself, let alone Ashton; who is he to turn down that offer? 

“Alright,” he relents, and shuffles closer, cool water sloshing over him as he goes. Ashton doesn’t seem to mind, though, just leans over the edge of the bath and presses his lips to Michael’s gently, softly, that sort of familiar and well-worn kiss that only comes with years of practice and comfort and yet still manages to make Michael’s stomach burst into flames every single time. 

(It’s one of Michael’s favourite _I love yous._ ) 

Ashton pulls away after just a few seconds, grimacing and wiping at his lips. 

“You’re all wet,” he says, wrinkling his nose. 

“I’m in the bath,” Michael says, and Ashton rolls his eyes, but there’s a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, is what you are,” he tells Michael, as he shuffles over so he’s kneeling by the tap. 

“Your fucking idiot, though,” Michael says hopefully. Ashton looks back at him, eyes crinkling with that fond, _I-hate-that-I-love-you_ smile he often gets with Michael. 

“That’s my cross to bear.” 

(He’s not fooling either of them; Michael knows Ashton wouldn’t have him any other way.)


End file.
